The Abano Pass - From The Passenger Seat

I woke up and checked my phone and saw that I had received a text message. It was from my driver, Ilya. Plain and simple, it was only a photo with the words, “it my car.” When I had imagined what I thought a car fit for one of the world’s most dangerous roads would look like, I suppose I had envisioned some jumbled images of something like a heavy duty pickup truck or a jeep, perhaps with some huge rock-crawler tires, a four-inch lift, and crazy suspension. As I looked down at my phone screen, I quickly realized, however, that this was not the case. In fact, it was far from it. It was a white Mitsubishi Delica. Yes, it was slightly souped up, but still, just a Delica. However, what I very quickly came to learn is that the car itself doesn’t really matter when your driver is one of the best in the entire country of Georgia.

We slowly made our way along, heading toward the mountains to deliver salt to Giorgi, the lead shepherd. The first stop we had to make was in a small town just outside of the pass. We met Parna, Girogi’s brother, to pick-up and pack the salt in the van for the drive up. Afterwards, we enjoyed the pleasure of a hot cup of tea while Ilya visited with Parna and his wife.

As we entered the base of the pass, we came across shepherds and their flocks of sheep as they finished their migration.

The Abano Pass is quite a high-risk, high-reward situation, or at least it felt like one to an outsider like me. To Ilya, on the other hand, who was tearing along the muddy roads with sheer cliffs at 25km/hr, there was no risk at all. It was just another Tuesday for him. The risk was well worth it for the views and the images, even considering that most of them were taken from inside a moving vehicle.

We spotted a car coming toward us from the opposite direction. It was the first vehicle I had seen on the road. They pulled up next to us, and the side of the van read “Caucasus Trekking Tours.” Ilya chatted with the driver for a moment. After they pulled away, he told me they had turned around because there was far too much snow for driving and the road should be closed. Ilya cooly said, “I know how to get through,” and continued to nonchalantly rip through the mountain side.

As we climbed in elevation, it began to snow. We met a group of men who had been walking in the opposite direction. Ilya rolled down my window to talk with one of the men. I could not understand what they were saying, but the man pointed to his mid-calf and mumbled a few words. Ilya told me the man said it was risky and that the snow was high; perhaps we ought to wait… but we continued pushing on.

As we got to the peak of our trek, the snow was bombarding us. We stopped for a moment in front of an old church with a few crosses. Ilya got out of the car. I just assumed he was going out to pray, but instead, he had gotten out to deflate the tires to increase their traction because the rest of the trip was downhill. Thus began the most heart-pounding section of our entire journey, the descent.

It was just around this time that Ilya got a call from Giorgi, the shepherd we were meant to hand the salt off to. He said he received a call from the man in the jacket that we previously passed, telling him that Ilya and an American were driving through the pass to come to him. Giorgi told Ilya that it was dangerous, be careful. Ilya simply shrugged it off, chuckled, and continued on.

The visibility was at an all-time low, with the snow blinding any decent sight lines. My camera went into its bag and I just took a deep breath and concentrated on maintaining my brave face as we slowly drove down the mountain side. My anxiety was palpable. As Ilya sensed it, he slowed the car down and pointed to semi-clear roads down below.

“Don’t worry, be happy,” he said with a reassuring smile on his face. “We are almost done with the snow.” A few meters ahead, we slowed the car down to make a U-turn. Ilya pressed the brakes, but the car kept sliding ever so slightly forwards, refusing to stop.

It was at this moment I suddenly realized the song that is playing on his radio, “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” by Bob Dylan. It almost made me laugh. After what felt like forever, but was surely just a few seconds, we regained traction and Ilya continued down the mountain until we finally saw mud. Ilya smiled and said, “Mud is good for us... better than the snow.”

The path down to lower altitude was relatively quick. Before we knew it, we were back in the drizzling rain and beautiful landscapes. Ilya stopped by men who were working in tractors to clear a section of road that previously had a rockslide occur. He told them the road must be cleared up above for other cars, as the snow was piling too high and was too dangerous for the average vehicle. 

Ilya spotted an old friend and stopped to chat. The man was looking to return to Kakheti, the town on the other side of the pass. Ilya advised him to wait a few days, or at least until tractors cleared the roads a bit.

The Home Stretch

The journey came to an end as we arrived a few miles away from Giorgi and his mountain village. We then had to hike to him and deliver the salt in the coming days before going back down and returning to Tbilisi.